Cleared for Takeoff - The Triporati Blog » Greenwich Villagehttps://www.triporati.com/blog
Sharing stories about the world and travelWed, 23 Nov 2016 16:10:46 +0000http://wordpress.org/?v=2.6enThaw Out in Cozy New York Hauntshttps://www.triporati.com/blog/2015/03/01/thaw-out-in-cozy-new-york-haunts/
https://www.triporati.com/blog/2015/03/01/thaw-out-in-cozy-new-york-haunts/#commentsSun, 01 Mar 2015 19:58:19 +0000Darya Meadhttp://www.triporati.com/blog/?p=4963I packed silk long underwear, my warmest pants, boots, socks and other sundry cold weather gear for a last minute trip to NYC. It’s been years since I have visited my home town in February, and this year I was told the relentlessly arctic weather was unprecedented. Multiple images of the frozen Hudson River and moaning on Facebook made me truly ponder what to bring and how I was to survive the deep freeze.

Once there, I was pleasantly surprised that my California outdoor gear was fine, better than fine, I actually enjoyed the blistering cold. I gave up on the outdoor ice skating idea, but one day my sister and her kids and I went sledding in Central Park. For some reason sledding other places is never as fun, and after an hour or so on the slope behind the Metropolitan Museum of Art, I artfully entered the museum to thaw out, grab a cup of coffee and take in some art—a wonderful New York combo of winters sports and culture.

It was cold. It was a good day if the temperature hit 20 degrees Fahrenheit while I was there. I was lucky to be introduced to multiple cozy spots to warm up and enjoy the inside world of winter in the Big Apple.

My first day, I took a walk with my mom in the West Village to the Hudson River and we stopped for lunch at The Spotted Pig, a pub-like eatery in a quaint old building on West 11th Street. In the back, overlooking a snow-filled garden, we devoured a scrumptious smoked haddock and pancetta creamed soup, broccoli rabe and beer. This place was bustling midday, and we met a doll-maker from Canada who was in town for a toy convention. We talked, she always pops into the Spotted Pig when in town, specifically for the smoked haddock soup. She mentioned that the shoestring fries were to die for too and that she loved my name, saying she might name a new doll after me!

Despite my quest to find new go-to places, I did have to swing by Rocco’s pastry shop on Bleeker Street at least once, to pick up some Italian cookies and have a fabulous cappuccino. So many of my favorite places have closed as the Disneyfication of Manhattan takes root. So, I was charmed to discover these new places to explore.

My mom, an inveterate Villager, had a few of her favorite new haunts to share. One day we met friends for coffee and scones at the Marlton Hotel on 8th street—the site of a long defunct SRO where I used to visit Washington Square Park buskers in the ’70s and ’80s. This completely redone hotel has a fireplace and ample seating for both hotel guests and outsiders. Another cold day, following a trip to the New Museum on the Bowery, we sauntered into the Bowery Hotel for a Bloody Mary to warm us up. Again, a cozy fire, plush seats and packed to the gills with people thawing out. I used to walk this street on my way to CBGB’s, keys between my knuckles to protect against any assault. Today, models mingle with one percenters and funky New Yorkers enjoying the attractive and welcoming lobby and cafe/bar area.

A few other warming huts I enjoyed were in Brooklyn, where my sister and her family call home. Following a yoga class in Williamsburg’s Go Yoga, a tasty Moroccan lunch with full silver service mint tea at Cafe Mogador was a welcome respite. I was also treated to a Bushwick Valentines Day Benefit Party at a raw chocolate factory and a quick tour of the bustling pizza joint around the corner that is definitely a hotspot on cold nights. Roberta’s is a known draw in the area, and folks come from far and wide for the ambiance, cachet and presumably the pie.

Finally, a trip to the Upper West Side and a pilgrimage of sorts to Zabar’s. Tastes of my youth, reassuringly the same quality, affordability and look and still so much to choose from. I decided taking smoked fish home on a plane wasn’t such a good idea, so I opted for chocolate, coffee, shirts, hats, mugs and pictures. I visited with an old friend who happens to have the last name Zabar, and when I gleefully mentioned to her dad that I had bought stuff from his store to take back to San Francisco, he futzed with his Larry David-esque baseball cap and said in an oh so memorable tone, “We ship you know.”

]]>https://www.triporati.com/blog/2015/03/01/thaw-out-in-cozy-new-york-haunts/feed/Hardcore Handball and Strudelhttps://www.triporati.com/blog/2013/05/14/hardcore-handball-and-strudel/
https://www.triporati.com/blog/2013/05/14/hardcore-handball-and-strudel/#commentsTue, 14 May 2013 21:47:45 +0000Darya Meadhttp://www.triporati.com/blog/?p=4350I just spent seven jam-packed days of nostalgia and appreciation of the ever-evolving city of New York. The weather was perfect, the spring blooms at their peak and that dazzling mix of old world and high tech chic on display everywhere.

I try to make it back to New York at least once a year, usually for events, this time my epic High School reunion. I often travel solo but this time my companion was my nine-year-old. There was so much I wanted to share with him and narrowing down our plans was painful…and true to how I roll, the best things happened serendipitously.

We walked by the West 4th Street Courts just a block from my mom’s apartment, a famous spot where Lew Alcindor played before becoming the great Kareem Abdul-Jabbar, an iconic public court where legions of other basketball greats have shot hoops over the years. Tucked in the the back are handball courts — I had forgotten about the New York obsession with the game. A tiny pinky ball, perhaps a glove and a wall, that’s all that’s needed. The sport, now called “American Handball”, is a big draw for beach goers, but as I traveled the city I was surprised to see so many courts in every borough. My son was fascinated and wanted to play. A player at W. 4 Street let him on the court to give it a try and he was smitten. The guy even gave him a ball — I LOVE NY.

He promptly lost it and I promised to buy him a ball and play with him, as I have fond memories of playing at Jones Beach, Florida and around town as a kid. In fact, we used to just play against the wall next to my mom’s apartment, which is now a a deluxe condo.

We didn’t seem to pass any sporting goods stores and the Woolworths and Lamstons of my youth have been taken over by Duane Reade drugstores and Chase Bank buildings. So the next day, as we came up from the subway, I decided, on a whim, to see if the local newsstand next to the courts might, per chance, sell them. I’m not sure what inspired me to think that was possible, but for two-dollars, the kid got a handball and thus the highlight of his trip began. We checked out a few courts and he carried his ball with him each day.

A visit to Coney Island with the cousins and a glorious walk on the boardwalk found this handball hotspot in Brighton Beach, perfect with the pink flowers framing the gritty urban court. I reveled in the moment remembering all those years ago, a time when NYC was hurting, crime was out of control and yet people congregated on stoops, listened to music together on boom boxes and the hardcore handball fanatics were part of the pulse of the city.

We stopped at Tatiana’s, a Russian cafe in Brighton Beach. The Nathans of my youth was still recovering from Hurricane Sandy, but after losing everything in the storm, Tatiana’s was up and running again. It felt like we were on the Black Sea or somewhere in Europe, not much English spoken and many families out for a Sunday stroll. We parked ourselves in the cafe and ordered strudel and tea and studied the crowd. We were clearly outsiders, despite my part Russian heritage, but once the piping hot tea and scrumptious cherry strudel arrived I was in heaven. The less than stellar Soviet style service was part of the experience. A walk down the High Street of Surf Avenue unveiled more treasures, a terrific little shop where I bought Armenian sour cherry jam, Hungarian salami and the Russian bread I love. On the street, a vendor sold what looked like Russian pirozhki, but when I tried to confirm the name I was met with much sourness. We bought cabbage, pork, spinach and cherry; it’s great how the sweet and savory co-mingle. They were a tad greasy, but for $1.50 each was a meal.

We climbed onto the elevated subway track laden with our purchases as the stunning spring light made the grimiest steel sparkle. The ride back was quick and edifying. I was captivated by the multi-ethnic faces and so many languages filling the car. It made me want to move back to New York.

]]>https://www.triporati.com/blog/2013/05/14/hardcore-handball-and-strudel/feed/Beastie Boys Tour of NYChttps://www.triporati.com/blog/2012/05/09/beastie-boys-tour-of-nyc/
https://www.triporati.com/blog/2012/05/09/beastie-boys-tour-of-nyc/#commentsWed, 09 May 2012 22:41:43 +0000Darya Meadhttp://www.triporati.com/blog/?p=4097As a kid in NYC in the ’80s, the soundtrack to my youth was varied and evolving, but the Beastie Boys were marquee. The three band members were my peers, and as Rap and Hip Hop filled the clubs and airwaves, they were riding the wave of a whole new genre and creating their own sound, combining street rhythms and rhymes with punk ethos and energy. Disco was waning, the punk scene morphing and it was pioneering for three white boys to be doing what they were doing.

I’m no music expert, most of my response to music is visceral and associative, but I do know that if the Beastie Boys had been a fad, they wouldn’t have lasted as long as they have.

As I blasted their latest album with car windows open, to pay homage to the fallen Beastie (Adam MCA Yauch) who passed away from cancer earlier this month, my kids cringed as Mom reminisced semi-publicly. I tend to hate when I pass another car with thumping music blaring, always muttering, “Yeah, I like that music so much” to myself. OK, so forgive me…

I was thinking about the concert they played at Madison Square Garden with Run DMC, the kids clothing store on 10th street, in my hood, owned by Beastie Boy Adam Horowitz’s mom Doris, cheekily named “Gee The Kids Need Clothes,” and dancing till rivers of sweat poured down my back to Brass Monkey, No Sleep Till Brooklyn and others at loft parties, clubs and friend’s homes.

Greenwich Village (and NYC in general) is no stranger to walking tours. I remember parting the crowds to get a cupcake from Magnolia Bakery, a shop featured on Sex in the City, or even wedging through the clumps of tourists snapping photos of my everyday haunts, places where the famous and infamous had worked, lived, partied or died. Once, while soaking in the Communal Russian Baths, in the East Village, a woman pulled out a camera because John Belushi had come there frequently to cleanse himself after his binges.

There is now a suggested self-guided Beastie Boys walking tour, including many of the places important to their life and career. It includes a loft where much of the magic took place in the early years of Beastie Boys rise from punk kids to Rap icons. The corner of Irvington and Ludlow on the Lower East Side is on the itinerary, where the cover for their second album, Paul’s Boutique, was shot. Today there is a restaurant called Paul’s Boutique in honor of the album.

A memorial is currently drawing mourners at 69 Avenue A where Yauch and the Boys recorded the album Polly Wog Stew.

RIP Adam Yauch 1964-2012

]]>https://www.triporati.com/blog/2012/05/09/beastie-boys-tour-of-nyc/feed/New York Cupcakeshttps://www.triporati.com/blog/2009/06/24/new-york-cupcakes/
https://www.triporati.com/blog/2009/06/24/new-york-cupcakes/#commentsThu, 25 Jun 2009 00:36:26 +0000Darya Meadhttp://www.triporati.com/blog/?p=2143Who doesn’t love a good cupcake, those perfect hand held mini/maxi treats. Growing up in New York, in winter, my best friend and I used to wear earmuffs. I’ll never forget when one, somewhat inebriated “bum” (as we used to call them) asked me “What’s up cupcake?” I knew I looked like a cupcake wearing the big furry cupcake-like muffs. I also liked the reference.

Now, as a mom I have become somewhat of a cupcake connoisseur, both as a baker and a consumer. My older son was such a cupcake fan I would make them for each birthday. We have a picture of him just about to bite one at his party for practically each year of his life. They are displayed in frames on our fridge to this day.

Every time I go home to visit my mom in NYC, I have to hit Magnolia Bakery on Bleecker Street in the West Village. I often claim the kids really would LOVE to go, but in truth, I look forward to the pilgrimage and I am not alone. Usually there is a line around the block. Since it opened in 1996, Magnolia has been featured in Sex in the City, The Devil Wears Prada and Saturday Night Live mock rap which is hilarious, among other shows and films shot in the Village.In summer, we often go, get our cupcakes and then sit in the park across the street, savoring the sumptuous, velvety treats. We then watch my kids run like mad in the sprinklers on a complete sugar, frosting, sprinkle induced high.

My long love affair with cupcakes was re-ignited recently when I read a small article in the New York Times Dining section earlier this month about the Cupcake-Stop. Apparently, now there is a mobile cupcake truck (not connected to Magnolia). The sugared-up van prowls the Union Square area Tuesday through Sunday from 10 a.m. to 5p.m. You can follow them on twitter and the “red velvet” comes highly recommended. My mouth is watering just thinking about it! Do you have any cupcake hotspots to recommend?